“A million and one time’s the charm,” he said.
Vivien grabbed the door and was about to pull it shut when the cashier called to her.
“Hey, hey,” he said. “I’m just trying to be friendly.”
Vivien hesitated. Perhaps it wouldn’t do to be hostile to a friend of Priscilla’s.
“My name is Marco,” he said, keeping both hands on Clay who was struggling to get free of his leash.
“Vivien,” she said, but kept a chill in her voice.
“When I came to get Clay, I saw your…”
He gestured toward Shrimpfork.
“House,” she offered.
“If you say so.”
Vivien could see the sparkle in his eyes. She knew he was teasing.
But she was never a fan of teasing.
He was cute, though, so maybe she should cut him some slack.
“Are you a dog walker as well as a cashier?” Vivien asked, as she stepped down from Shrimpfork to pet Clay.
“Pretty much,” Marco said, sitting on the front stoop of Shrimpfork to release Clay from the bondage of his leash. “Priscilla said you’ve already been up to the house, so you know she’s all alone in there. I just help out where I can.”
Vivien’s antennae went up. Was this guy some sort of saint? Or was he one of those people who cozy up to old people, gaining their trust and taking advantage of them? She was going to keep an eye on this one.
Clay ran past Vivien into Shrimpfork. She wondered if she should bring him back outside. She could hear his nails clicking on the tile in the postage-sized kitchen area. There wasn’t much to explore in Shrimpfork. He’d be bored soon enough.
“The whole town is talking about your”—he looked over his shoulder at Shrimpfork—“house. Harry Donaldson over at the RV park is going to be disappointed that you aren’t coming over there.”
“The RV park,” Vivien said, jumping up and grabbing her phone out of her back pocket. She looked at Marco. “I forgot to cancel my booking. Do you think the owner will let me out of my reservation?”
“You’ll be taking your chances. I mean, you did give your word,” Marco said. “You word is your bond. That’s how we roll here.”
“Really?”
“It’s a New Mexico thing.”
Does this guy ever give a straight answer? Even though Vivien knew Marco was kidding, her stomach lurched when the call was answered on the other end.
“Harry Donaldson speaking.”
“Hello, Mr. Donaldson, this is Vivien Orlando?” Vivien tried to end the sentence forcefully, but it still came out sounding like a question. She started pacing, feeling Marco’s eyes following her. She was not going to get rattled.
“Oh, yes,” Harry said. “The tiny-house lady.”
“Yes, that’s me,” Vivien said, slightly surprised word had spread so soon. “I was just wondering if I might cancel my reservation? I’ve… I’ve made other accommodations.”
“Up at Priscilla Workman’s is what I hear,” Harry said.
Marco hadn’t been kidding about the whole town knowing she was there. She looked at Marco, who shrugged.
“Yes,” Vivien said. “Priscilla has said I can stay on her property.”
“She must like you,” Harry Donaldson said. “Priscilla doesn’t really take to strangers. Or neighbors, for that matter.”
“So, we’re okay?” she asked.
“Sure,” Harry said. “Hope to see you and your house around town one of these days.”
Vivien was about to explain she wasn’t going to be driving the house into town, but didn’t want to sound negative.
“I’ll look forward to that,” she said, pleased at how diplomatic and grown-up she sounded.
She hung up. Clay stood in the doorway, slobbering contentedly.
“Looks like Harry took the news okay,” Marco said.
“It was touch-and-go there for a while,” Vivien said—two could play at the teasing game. “But I’m pretty good at negotiations… It’s a Florida thing.”
* * * *
As Priscilla watered her outdoor potted plants, she could just see Shrimpfork nestled under the Mexican nut pines. She’d watered the plants on the patio just yesterday, but that was the beauty of living alone: nobody knew that. It was a perfect cover for spying—well, spying was a very harsh word—it was a perfect cover for observing what went on over at the tiny house. Marco couldn’t get Clay on the leash fast enough when he spotted the new addition to her lawn.
She hoped the two young people would get along. She wanted Vivien to be happy here. She wasn’t sure how long her plan would take—or if it would even work—but if Vivien was content, it would make things easier.
Chapter 12
Vivien woke with the sun. Life in the loft was getting to be second nature. While still in half-sleep mode, she hit the remote to lower the ladder, rolled off the mattress and crawled across the edge without falling off. At the sound of the ladder reaching the floor, she lay on her stomach, swung her legs into the air, and commanded her toes to feel for the top rung all without opening her eyes. By the time she was fully alert, she’d climbed down, made coffee and toast, and was sitting on her sofa, looking out toward Priscilla’s lovely back patio.
As she had driven across the country, she had been dismayed as the greens of the South gave way to the browns of the desert. The desert looked like mile after mile of blasted, sunbaked nothingness as she sped by. But now, as she examined this small patch of the Southwest, she could see all the different colors that made up this land. There were several shades of green, from moss to sage to jade. The sky was currently a blazing pink and orange, slowly giving way to a cloudless blue. Tiny specks of purple and rose dotted some of the cacti in the space between her home and Priscilla’s.
There were lights on in the Casa de Promesas kitchen. Vivien wondered about the name as she watched Priscilla moving through the large room, Clay’s head bouncing into view occasionally as Priscilla prepared his breakfast. Would she discover some of those promises while she was here?
Vivien opened her laptop. She was surprised to see Priscilla had a Wi-Fi address. She wondered if Marco had set that up for her. Priscilla didn’t seem like a lady who spent a lot of time on the internet. Vivien made a mental note to ask Priscilla for the password, but for now, she’d use her very expensive hotspot.
Instagram had all the news from her Jacksonville friends. She scrolled through pictures of her friends enjoying life without her. Her two best friends posted pictures of themselves playing volleyball—something the three of them used to do together. A friend from college shared news that she was heading off to Italy for a few months before settling into her adult life. Andrew, the captain of the football team, and Sara, the homecoming queen from Vivien’s high school days, announced their engagement, but wrote that they weren’t rushing to the altar.
We’re still too young! Sara wrote, holding up her left hand and showing off her engagement ring.
Vivien wondered if perhaps she’d been in too much of a rush to grow up. Life looked so safe back home. And she had chosen to face the unknown, here, in the desert.
Having already discovered there was not enough room to dress upstairs, Vivien climbed back up to the loft and tossed some clothes down to the floor below. She took a quick shower, returned the ladder to its spot on the ceiling, and dressed. She pushed thoughts of Marco out her mind as she whipped on some mascara and lip gloss. Washing her coffee mug and plate and stashing the toaster took mere seconds.
There were certainly things to be said for living an uncluttered life—especially when you needed to turn your full attention to other people’s stuff. She stepped out of her tiny house and breathed in the sweet New Mexico air. Clay was suddenly at her feet, impatiently waiting for a morning scratch. Vivien happily thumped the dog’s ribcage. One thing about big dog
s—they could take a frisky hello.
She thought she heard rain, but the sky was clear. She located the sound. It was Priscilla on the patio, watering her plants. Vivien waved. The wave was returned. As soon as Vivien stepped off her stoop, Clay raced back to the house, wagging furiously. Vivien stepped onto the patio just as Priscilla was shutting off the hose.
“Good morning, dear,” Priscilla said. “I hope Clay didn’t wake you.”
“Oh, no,” Vivien said. “I’ve been up for a while.”
“I see you met Marco yesterday,” Priscilla said. “He’s a very nice young man, don’t you think?”
“I don’t really know him,” Vivien said cautiously. “Is he a friend of yours?”
“Not a friend, exactly,” Priscilla said, coiling the hose. “I mean, nothing improper, if that’s what you’re thinking.
Dear God, that is not what I’m thinking!
“Are we ready to get started?” Vivien asked, anxious to change the subject.
Priscilla nodded and turned toward the open door, Clay almost knocking her over as he led the way. Vivien stopped. She looked at the plants, confused. They were cacti. She was no expert, but as far as she knew, cacti didn’t require a lot of water—and didn’t she see Priscilla watering them just last night?
Vivien followed Priscilla through the kitchen, an interesting mix of Old World charm and modern appliances. Two rows of whitewashed cabinets were built far enough apart that an island with room for barstools on each side could sit comfortably in the middle of the gleaming hardwood floor. The countertops were well-worn butcher block. The upper cabinetry were open shelves with a display of blue-and-white pottery. Windows took up the back wall, looking out to the patio and beyond to Shrimpfork and the dry creek bed.
A black, tan, and gray woven rug covered most of the hardwood floor in the impressive formal dining room. The enormous table had a simple wooden base on which rested a glass top at least three inches thick. Eight leather chairs with seats covered in a tapestry with the same tones as the rug surrounded the table. A wooden chandelier, also massive in scale, hung from the ceiling.
“I love this,” Vivien said as they passed a rounded, bell-shaped fireplace tucked in the corner of the room.
“That’s called a kiva,” Priscilla said. “They’re in all the old homes.”
I’m glad I didn’t call it a fireplace.
Vivien walked over to a group of paintings hung on one long adobe wall. They were all landscapes, but they had an unearthly quality to them. They depicted the Southwest, but each gave a feeling of isolation.
“These are amazing,” Vivien said. “But they make me feel lonely.”
“I was lonely when I painted them,” Priscilla said.
“You painted these? So, you’re an artist.”
“I was, I suppose,” Priscilla said. “My father wasn’t particularly keen on me pursuing the life of an artist.”
“You should take it up again. You’re amazing.”
Priscilla smiled, but didn’t reply.
They proceeded to the center hallway. When Vivien had gotten the assignment, Priscilla had been vague, stating, “I have lived in this big old house my entire life and even I don’t know what’s here. Could I retain your services for a few weeks and see what we find?”
At first, Vivien thought Priscilla might be looking for an estate appraiser, but Priscilla assured her that was not the case. “I just want to get my house in order,” she said. Vivien agreed and now here she was, ready to begin. Although Priscilla still had not said what they were going to do.
Priscilla was standing at the bottom of the staircase, Clay sitting in his usual antsy fashion on the bottom step.
“I noticed the ceiling beams yesterday,” Vivien said, looking up. “They’re beautiful. Are they in every room?”
“They’re called vigas. They’re in all the original downstairs rooms, yes. But not the bathrooms, which were added later,” Priscilla said. “You see vigas all over the Southwest, but since the 1930s they’re usually just ornamental. These are original, though, from the 1800s. They’re actually structural.”
“The original downstairs rooms?” Vivien asked, looking around as if there was a modern wing she had missed.
“Yes,” Priscilla said, her voice sounding softer. “I don’t actually remember the original house, which my grandparents built in 1925. But by the standards of the day, it was pretty large. The living room, hallway, dining room, and kitchen were all the original house. There were also some outbuildings that are gone now. By the time I came along in the late 1940s, the place had been modernized—bathrooms and an up-to-date kitchen. The second story was also built by then. The house was growing along with the town. This part of New Mexico was getting a name for itself by the end of the war.”
“I was wondering about that,” Vivien said. “I mean, I know Sandstone is really a pretty small town, but it seems everyone in the world has heard of it.”
“Really?” Priscilla said surprised.
“Well, everybody has heard of Taos,” Vivien admitted.
So much for buttering her up.
“But you don’t know why.”
“Not really.”
“Don’t you have one of those phones with the internet on it?”
“Yes,” Vivien said, flushing as she saw where this was heading.
“Marco says the sum of all human knowledge is on the phone now,” Priscilla said. “And the northwestern corner of New Mexico is fascinating.”
“I’ll have to look it up,” Vivien said.
And thank you, Marco, for making me look like an idiot in front of my very first client.
“I hope you do,” Priscilla said.
“Do you happen to know your Wi-Fi password?” Vivien asked, hoping she didn’t sound impudent.
But Priscilla did say she should look things up on her phone.
“Oh, I have no idea,” Priscilla said. “You’d have to ask Marco.”
Vivien wondered why Marco had access to Priscilla’s computer, but she didn’t feel she should ask.
Priscilla seemed to intuit the question.
“Marco thinks that I’m too isolated out here,” Priscilla said. “He thought a computer would be good for me. But I never use it.”
“I see,” Vivien said, trying not to sound suspicious.
“I know a lot about this area,” Priscilla said. “If that helps.”
“It will help!” Vivien said, happy to be off the subject of Marco.
She suspected she was going to learn a lot about Casa de Promesas and the Southwest now that she was working for Priscilla Workman. With or without the sum of human knowledge that was on her phone.
“I thought we might take a look at the attic,” Priscilla said.
The attic.
There it was.
Vivien’s first assignment on her own.
“I’m all set,” Vivien said, taking a deep breath. “Lead the way.”
As soon as Priscilla turned to head up the stairs, Clay shot out in front, taking the steps two at a time. As Vivien followed Priscilla through the upper hallway, she was struck by the gorgeous Southwestern artwork on the walls, and the woven blankets draped over the balcony that overlooked the front hall. She noticed that Priscilla pulled her sweater sleeve over her hand as she went up the banister.
Was Priscilla a germ freak?
“It’s not technically an attic,” Priscilla said, laying her still-wrapped hand on a wrought-iron door handle. “It’s more just a top floor wing I use for storage.”
A wing?
Vivien tried to smile. Priscilla opened the door and stood aside for Vivien to enter. Clay darted toward the door, but Priscilla held up her hand. The boxer sat down, pleading with his melted-chocolate eyes for his mistress to reconsider. But after Vivien walked through the door, Priscilla clo
sed it. Vivien could hear the dog settling down outside the door as she waited for her eyes to adjust.
She could make out Priscilla moving confidently in the dim light of the space. Priscilla was obviously no stranger to this place she called her “attic.” Vivien heard a whooshing sound. She blinked and shielded her eyes, as the place was suddenly flooded with sunlight. Priscilla stood, a fistful of white canvas curtain in her hands, next to a large picture window. Dust particles from the disturbed drapery danced in the sun’s rays. Vivien looked around and gasped. The “wing” was one long, large room about seventy-five feet long by twenty-five feet wide. At first, all she could see was the narrow pathway between herself at one end of this quagmire and the canvas curtain in Priscilla’s hands at the other. The space was so tightly packed, it was hard to tell anything apart.
As Vivien grew accustomed to the light, she started to make out trunks, bags, boxes, and clothes racks running the entire length of the place. There didn’t appear to be any discernable order. Chairs and small inlaid and tiled tables were roped to the ceiling. She felt her confidence ebb.
“Is there anything in particular you’d like for me to do first?” Vivien said.
I don’t sound anything like an oracle!
“Oh, I bow to your expertise,” Priscilla said, looking doubtfully around the room.
Vivien bit down on her knuckle to keep from blurting, “I have no idea what I’m doing! I’ve taken this job under false pretenses!”
But instead she said, quite calmly, “I guess I’ll just start organizing the clothes, if that’s okay.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Vivien pulled out a clothes rack, from which hung tightly packed garment bags. In the reflection of the window, she could see that Priscilla was still in the room. Vivien was nervous enough without having an audience, but she couldn’t really throw Priscilla out of her own attic. Vivien unzipped the first of the garment bags, pulling out a white beaded shift, weighted down with white embroidery and strands of fringe.
“That was my grandmother’s wedding dress,” Priscilla said. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it was.”
Tiny House on the Road Page 7